


Birth

by legendofthesevenstars



Series: Machina Trilogy [3]
Category: Xenoblade Chronicles
Genre: All Prose, Character Study, Experimental, Gen, and partly bc I wanted Earth Meyneth, not compliant with Xenoblade 2 canon, partly bc I haven't played it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-25 22:52:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17130221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/legendofthesevenstars/pseuds/legendofthesevenstars
Summary: Meyneth wanted to be a mother in her past life. In her new life, she has thousands of children, and she loves them all. Especially the one that reminds her the most of home.





	Birth

**Author's Note:**

> "They are flushed and slightly awkward, these women, and I wish them all good fortune. To each of them I wish a big bouncing baby with a fine set of lungs, to each of the the kind of birth that makes the doctor and nurses beam with goodwill and self-congratulation." - "Babies," Ann Packer

Meyneth had always been enamored by living things, not technology, but perhaps because Alvis had been closer to Klaus than she, and intent on carrying out Klaus’ will, she was represented as a machine, Klaus as a being of flesh and blood. Klaus was, after all, the creator of Alvis—the most advanced artificial intelligence of their time—and she supposed anyone would give anything for their god. She didn’t truly understand the level of sacrifice and veneration until her creations arose from Mechonis: the Machina.

They looked to her as a god because she was the soul of the Mechonis, the titan on which they lived, and because she had created them. She watched them grow, develop a language, a small community blossoming into a society. They grew into adulthood, fell in love, got sick, took care of each other, raised children. When they smiled, she felt happy; when they were hurt, she felt sad. They came to see her, kneeling before her in groups. She talked and told stories and sang to them, and listened to what they had to say; she would always console anyone in need of comfort.

She could hear their thoughts, hundreds coursing through her at times; it was easier to focus if they included her name with their thought, so she taught them the practice of prayer. She was then more easily able to discern what they needed to tell her. Some questions were simple, maybe asked by very young children.  _Lady Meyneth, why is the sky blue? Lady Meyneth, is there anything out there beyond the Mechonis? Lady Meyneth, why do we get sick?_ She could “answer” factual questions like these by speaking telepathically into the individual’s mind, which at first was easy, but as time went on and she received more questions, got harder to keep up with. Other questions she couldn’t answer often left her shaken in the wake of their asking.  _Lady Meyneth, where is my Mum? Lady Meyneth, why don’t the people of Bionis have a god? Lady Meyneth, please tell me, when is he coming back?_

She insisted they call her “Meyneth” without the formality, but often, “Lady Meyneth” became simply “Mother” rather than her name. In her past life, she had never had children, being only in her early thirties and fresh out of a Ph.D., wanting to focus on her career. But, envying her friends and coworkers whose bellies swelled with life, she had grown disappointed, even depressed, that she wasn’t carrying a baby of her own. Now she had dozens of children who answered to her call. They talked to her all the time, and sometimes she grew weary from the constant questioning, but she never discouraged them from relying on her.

Klaus, now known as Zanza, had hundreds, maybe even thousands of children, but they did not talk to or see him. Perhaps he could hear them, but they were unaware of his existence from what she knew. But because Alvis posed as a being of Bionis, Zanza would always have his very first creation to keep him company. Meyneth did not mind that neither Klaus nor Alvis talked to her anymore; she had never been particularly close to either. Klaus had always sought to start arguments with her just so he could insist he was right, ego bolstered by his authority as the genius who created Alvis; with the AI itself, she had maintained a strictly professional relationship, using Alvis’ services when required for work and nothing more.

Meyneth was proud of the Machina. She loved them, unconditionally. Even when her children doubted what she told them, or refused to accept her help, or stopped visiting her (it was very rare that any of these happened), still she loved them. She did not play favorites. She knew everyone’s story, everyone’s jobs, hobbies, family, and lovers. To an extent, she could see their fates, but she kept those secret, for she had only a narrow window into something that might happen, but could easily change. However, no vision of any future could prepare her for the day everything changed.

She blamed herself for the attack, not because of her past rocky relationship with her coworker but because of the person he had now become: selfish, horrible, insular. He must envy her maternal relationship with the Machina: that was her conclusion, but rather than argue with him and try to get him to stop, she had to think first of protecting the Machina, and, unprepared as she was, it was difficult to counter the raw power of the Bionis. She took over the body of one of her most powerful, best, and brightest to aid her in channeling her power, but she was unable to prevent the genocide of her people, and fewer than twenty Machina survived the massacre, her vessel being among them. The battle racked her weak frame, and she lived only because she had inhabited another being; she could only apologize to the Machina (who did not blame her in the slightest) and tell them to hide themselves away, for Zanza would return one day.

She felt small, diminished by reality, in those coming days. She had failed as a god; she was supposed to protect her creations from harm, and all she had done was put them in danger. The voices she had grown accustomed to hearing had become quiet; Agniratha, now abandoned, was desolate and lonely, and the Machina were still busy settling in on the Fallen Arm. She lay dormant, in the same way that Zanza had been sealed away, but her consciousness did not fade. She had no energy to communicate with her beings anymore, as much as their questions pained her in their blind grasp for answers and mercy. _Mother, will we ever be safe again? Mother, will you come back to us? Lady Meyneth, can you hear us?_

She wanted so badly to talk to them again, to tell them that she _was_ listening despite the distance. In a couple thousand years, she thought, the younger Machina would forget she ever talked to them, and forget someone named Meyneth even existed. They would not question their origins from a long line of Machina heritage, and the myth of the Mechonis would be abandoned. Perhaps this was what Zanza wanted her to understand, what it felt like to be forgotten. For now, the Machina refused to forget her. Her name constantly appeared in their thoughts. She heard them calling out to her: melancholy greetings, miserable cries, desperate whispers. She longed to give each and every one of them a reassuring touch, an open palm on the tops of their helmets. Her empty nest pained her.

Then the twins returned, Egil and Vanea. She had adored them when they were growing up, and doted on them just as she had on all her creations. Egil had been a traveler, Vanea a homebody; Egil, emotional and artistic, Vanea, analytical and technologically gifted. She had encouraged Egil’s enthusiasm for composing poetry and listened to the deep, intellectual questions he asked her while he was on Bionis. Vanea, the more grounded twin, stayed on Mechonis with her father, fulfilled by any profession she took on, and remained devoted to Meyneth.

Even before that fateful day, she had designated Egil to serve as her vessel in the event anything happened to Mechonis; it was only coincidence and not fate, she thought, that he had been close to the vessel Zanza had used. But even if Zanza’s vessel recognized Egil, he had done nothing to resist Zanza, and Egil had been badly hurt in the course of the battle. Meyneth still felt terrible about the physical harm done to Egil, and that she couldn’t save Arglas from Zanza. But Egil didn’t blame her, at least not at first. Instead, a deep resentment toward the Bionis rooted itself inside him, an undiluted hatred toward Zanza—incongruent with the aimlessness and emptiness the other Machina, and Meyneth herself, felt in the months and years after the attack. Meyneth wondered whether she was at fault for his anger: could she have tried to fight Zanza without a vessel?

Vanea was less wrathful, but she felt as if she didn’t have a choice, not only because Egil had forced her to come with him. Because of her love for her twin, and the fact that they had begun to drift apart over the past few centuries, she felt obligated to stay with him.

The twins knelt before her shrine just as they had been accustomed to doing before the attack. She could not rouse herself to come and see them: she was too weak, and it was too dangerous. But she listened, every night, to the things they told her.

Vanea: _Lady Meyneth, I miss Father, my friends, the capital itself, the way it used to be._

Egil: _Lady Meyneth, I used to love the Bionis. It became like a second home to me._

_I only want to live together with everyone I love, without any more danger. We could all live in peace on the Fallen Arm. But I don’t know if that is possible for Egil._

_Now I have no more use for love. Not for the land. Not for him. I have to kill him, I know, because he is no longer the one I loved and who loved me._

_Why won’t Egil realize that what he’s doing is wrong?_

_How can I ever restore what was taken away from me?_

She wanted to break from her rest and talk to them, console them like she used to. Tell them she would be there for them no matter what, but she was powerless to provide them with any hope. Sure, the twins would be astonished, even overjoyed, if she did awaken, but she was far too tired.

She fell into an unconscious sleep for millennia. Even when she dreamt, the terrified screams and despairing cries of the Machina echoed within her mind. Their thoughts still raced through the fabric of her being—as if they were her flesh and blood—but she was too exhausted to reply or even to listen. Then, a foreboding feeling caused her to stir. Zanza’s Monado was in use again, having fallen into Homs hands.

She roused herself to consciousness. She could hear Egil and Vanea thinking as they worked in the lab, then the thoughts of the rest of the Machina within her mind all at once. Still the same Egil, still the same Vanea, Miqol, Linada, Neonik, Eiz, Shilx, Qofaria, Xekit, Vronik—aside from those who had already been ancient, all the creations she remembered from the world just after the attack were still alive, with a few children she had not met. Their voices flowed through her veins. She wanted to fight for them, try to convince Zanza of the error of his ways. The way Egil’s thoughts sounded, violent and full of rage, she dared not ally with him. Vanea, who was trying to find a way around Egil’s plan to wipe out the peoples of Bionis, could help Meyneth achieve her goal.

—

Putting her soul inside the Homs girl was an unorthodox plan; Meyneth was horrified to learn that Egil and Vanea had been modifying Homs corpses into twisted amalgamations of Homs and Machina parts. Still, she liked inhabiting a Homs body, even if it was only partially flesh and blood, and she enjoyed piloting Face Nemesis. The plan worked out fortuitously when she kept running into the Heir to the Monado. He told her the girl had family, and that her friends from Colony 9, her home, stood right in front of her. The girl remained unconscious as ever, but Meyneth was sad to hear that the girl had been taken away from her family. She thought of her own children and of what the girl’s mind had revealed to her: that she wanted to protect the boy wielding the Monado at any cost. For once, thoughts were not the only thing of which Meyneth was conscious. She had the girl’s _memories_.

It was a gorgeous gift to be able to both hear her thoughts and be blessed with her memories. She learned the girl’s name was Fiora, the wielder of the Monado was Shulk, Fiora’s brother was Dunban—these names and more. Her power to hear the thoughts of the Machina was diminished by residing within Fiora, but she could share _her_ memories, too, so that the girl knew what to do, what to say, who to talk to. There were things she kept from Fiora that she didn’t have to know, and that would expend too much energy to explain to her anyway.

Fiora had made a selfless sacrifice in her Homs life: brave and strong, she had died protecting her home. She was a gifted, perceptive, and intelligent girl, the kind of multitalented child Meyneth had always imagined she would raise. Aside from her impromptu stint as a mobile artillery pilot, Fiora had fought with knives; the twin blades she used now were similar, albeit doubled in length. Fiora had been a chef, and even now, she cooked for the group because she had no need to eat. The dishes she prepared were colorful and mouthwatering, and on the rare occasions Meyneth addressed her directly, it was often to tell her how delicious her cooking looked.

Faced with food again for the first time in thousands of years, Meyneth felt homesick for her distant past life, when she had chewed on peppermint candies, sipped chai lattes and diet soda, and eaten chicken chow mein from a paper box, all while sitting at her desk: feet propped up, ankles crossed, papers in her lap. On late nights, they had ordered pizza; Klaus would insist they got at least half pepperoni because he hated eating it plain, while Edward liked sausage and Sabrina wanted three cheese. Meyneth thought plain old cheese was the best. She had to smile remembering how Klaus, always cradling a mug of black coffee, used to make fun of her bubble tea. _I don’t get it. Why would you want blobs of jelly coming up through your straw?_ It used to annoy her. Now she missed it, missed his rudeness, missed the old routines.

When they relocated to the space station, they were forced to cook since ordering takeout was impossible. But no one was particularly gifted in the kitchen, not like Fiora: most meals were dried rations in boxes and bags, and boiling water took ages. She could still recall the salty taste of instant noodles so vividly that she feared that her memories might bleed into Fiora’s senses and confuse her. She shook away the fragments of memory; those didn’t matter now, and she hadn’t been nostalgic like that in nearly ten thousand years. Her mechanical children had made her forget her life as a being of flesh and blood like Fiora.

Fiora had many questions for Meyneth. When she first regained consciousness, Fiora was scared. _Who or what are you? Why do you keep talking to me? Why am I a Mechon now? Where are we?_

Meyneth’s method was to soothe her, comfort her. _You won’t lose your body, and you won’t lose your mind. I won’t hurt you_. Not just because if Fiora died Meyneth had no hope of carrying out her plan to stop Zanza, but because she cared about what Fiora wanted, and genuinely wanted to protect this remarkable, kind girl. She would make up for her past mistake with the Machina by shielding Fiora and the others from harm.

Once Fiora understood her basic situation, her questions grew more complex. _Meyneth, why are Bionis and Mechonis fighting? Why is Egil so angry and Vanea isn’t? How do you know so much about Mechonis?_ But some questions weren’t addressed directly at her, and she didn’t feel as if it was her role to answer them. She comforted Fiora, informing her—and the others—when necessary, but often let her think for herself. Even if such questions pained Meyneth to hear. _How long do I have left in this body? What if something happens to Shulk or Dunban? Is what we’re trying to do really the right thing?_

As she grew more used to her place in Fiora’s mind, Meyneth started addressing her more often, always encouraging her to go after her heart’s desires. If she wanted to protect Shulk and Dunban, and the others, then she needed to do it. If she wanted to fight and get stronger, and live her fullest life possible while still in her Machina body, she had to do it. Even something as simple as baking a cake together with Sharla and Riki, winning in a sprint against Reyn and Dunban, or studying High Entian books with Melia and Shulk—Meyneth loved doing all these things as much as Fiora did, and she wanted to enjoy the opportunities Fiora gave her. It was in Fiora’s nature to pursue what she wanted, and she was always full of energy even as her body failed to support her hybrid state. Meyneth admired it, was energized by Fiora’s spirit. Sometimes, fighting alongside her, she could feel Fiora’s love for her home, her brother, and her friends empowering her, and Fiora would feel the love for the Mechonis and the Machina arising within her heart. Wonderful girl, smart girl. Her Fiora, her daughter.

Sadly, Meyneth’s time with Fiora, just like her time at the center of Machina civilization, would have to end. Meyneth could not convince Zanza that the future belonged to his creations, just as she had failed to stop Klaus from making the simulation become reality in the first place. To protect Fiora and her friends, she left Fiora’s body entirely. Whatever she had left inside her would be only the memories Meyneth had shared with her while they were together, and it was tragic to think she had to leave the Homs girl she had grown to love—the same love she had always felt for her Machina children—behind. But Meyneth’s life, just like Zanza’s, was no longer needed: the lives of Fiora and her friends were far more important than hers.

For millennia, the Machina had lived without her, her existence forgotten to everyone, save for the very old like Neonik and Miqol, and those now middle-aged like Vanea and Egil, who had always known and loved her. The older ones would be shaken by her departure, but she knew they could carry on without her, and they had. In time, as they grew older and she faded from their collective memory, all Machina would forget her. She would no longer be their Mother; her existence would be erased, and the only hope she had was that Shulk and Fiora would defeat Zanza and recreate the world, and that the memory of the experiment and of Earth would be totally gone to anyone but Alvis.

Still, she loved her children, thinking of them in her last moments, and she would miss their inquisitiveness terribly. The final question she heard, as she faded away, came from Fiora. A single word: _Why?_


End file.
